An Evening At The Theater
by TomParis7
Summary: The second "episode" to my season 3. A man working at the theater company is killed, but there is more involved then at first meets the eye. No Johnlock, just a classic episode story. Enjoy!


An Evening At The Theater

_Sherlock Holmes was falling. With a huge smack he hit the concrete and lay motionless. John Watson stumbled toward him, as he got near he knew he must be dead. For no man could make a jump like that and survive._

_"No." John muttered, staggering toward his mangled body. John fell to his knees and felt for a pulse on his best friends wrist. Nothing._

_"No…" John said again, falling to the ground. He felt like laying there for eternity and never letting go to his best friend._

_"No, please… no…"_

"John... John?"

John Watson awoke with a start; Sherlock was bending over him, looking slightly concerned. John sat up and looked around the room, blearily eyed.

"What's happened?" John asked, shaking the sleep from his body and straightening up.

"You fell asleep on the couch, and you started muttering, so I woke you." Sherlock said, striding back to his desk and clicking open his laptop.

"Sorry about that." John said, getting up and stretching, "must have dosed off"

"What were you dreaming about?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh nothing really," Said John. He got up and opened the fridge. "Really, do you ever get proper food in here?"

"You were dreaming about my death." Sherlock said in an undertone. John turned from a pair of rotten eggs and then bowed his head, "I been dreaming about that a lot lately." He said, his eyes to the floor.

"Hum." Sherlock said and returned to his work. A few moments passed and then Sherlock puffed out his cheeks.

"I wish something fun would come along," Sherlock said, throwing his hands in the air and he began pacing, "Something new, something interesting… everything I've gotten has been so boring, and so easy."

"Well, who knows, maybe someone will get murdered today, that'd be fun!" John said sarcastically.

Sherlock sighed, "I can always hope."

Just then Sherlock's phone rang.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answered with a smile. After a few moments silence he said, "I see… he'll be right there," and hung up.

"Who was that?" John asked, closing the fridge.

"Lestrade." Sherlock answered

"And you said he'll be right there?"

"Yes, I can't spare any free time now, to busy, you should go and check out the crime scene."

"What?" John asked, appalled. "Didn't you _just _tell me you were bored and wanted a murder you could solve?"

"Yes but that's changed." Sherlock said, "Just go check it out, and text me the details."

John huffed. Sherlock jumped up and grabbed John's coat and flung it around John's shoulders.

"Fine," John sighed, "but you better get some food wile I'm out, I think we need milk as well."

"Alright." Sherlock said and John left the flat.

….

John pulled up in a taxi outside a house in Westminster. He walked up to the house and greeted Sally at the door.

"Where's the freak?" She asked, holding the crime scene tape up for John to duck under.

"He sent me, I think he wants to keep a low profile for a wile, you know, the press." John said, "Just upstairs?" Sally nodded and John went up the stairs. He met Lestrade on the first landing who nodded to him and said, "Sherlock not coming? He was really going to send you?"

"I suppose…" John said snapping on gloves, "I'm supposed to send him pictures of the scene and check it out. So what's going on?"

"Well, we have a man, age 28, by the name of Noah Chaston. We have no idea how he was killed. There are no signs of asphyxiation or any entry wounds. And he didn't live here, a woman who claimed to be his friend found him on her doorstep."

John looked down and saw the body at the door. He began to take camera pictures of the body and the surrounding area's.

"There's more." Lestrade said. John looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow, "More?"

Lestrade and John went into the woman's apartment.

"We found this in here." Lestrade directed John to the counter where a single envelope lay, "The friend found it after she called us about the body. We thought we would wait until you got here, maybe Sherlock can get something out of it?"

John sent pictures of the envelope to Sherlock then carefully opened the seal and pulled out a single shard of glass. John frowned at it, "do you think this was left by our killer?" John asked. Just then John phone beeped, it was Sherlock. John read it out loud

"_Left by our killer. It's a warning."_

John and Lestrade exchanged a glance.

"_There was no marks on the body correct? Ask Lestrade."_

John read Sherlock's next text out loud and Lestrade nodded, "How did he? -" John's phone beeped again.

"_The friend is involved, did Lestrade question her?"_

"Yes, but involved how?" Lestrade asked

"I'm not sure," John said, typing. "Did she kill him?"

"_Not quite, but she is involved, I suspect an affair."_

"Ok, how is he doing this?" Lestrade asked, looking around the room as though seeing if he was hiding in a corner somewhere.

"I have no idea."

_"Oh brilliant." _Sherlock texted again, this time John texted back, "What's brilliant."

"_You."_

John heaved a sigh, "I don't even know what to say, and I can't keep up with him. He should have just come along."

"_But this is much more fun." _Sherlock texted again.

Lestrade and John looked at each other again and then Lestrade asked for John's phone, "I'm going to try and ask him what he knows, instead of playing games." Lestrade said, opening the phone and beginning to type. Before he even got a sentence in, Sherlock texted again.

"_John, check his pockets." _

John and Lestrade headed back outside to the body and John bent over it. He reached his hands into the man's pocket and pulled out a bus ticket for a 133 bus. John snapped a picture and received a text 3 seconds later.

"_Just as I thought. Time for you to come home now John."_

Lestrade looked up at John, "So he's not going to tell us what he see's, he's just going to send you on you way? Honestly, that man sometimes…"

_"I will text you the details, now John, lets go."_

John shrugged at Lestrade and said, "I'm just taking orders." And left the scene. Back outside, he walked up the street and found Sherlock waiting by a taxi for him.

"What was that?" John asked, getting in the taxi after Sherlock.

"What was what?" Sherlock asked, pulling out his phone.

"That mockery you just pulled at the crime scene! You should have seen Lestrade, he was not very happy."

"Aw well," Sherlock said.

"But-" John stammered, "How did you do it? Know what we were saying, did you follow me again?"

"You like the Beatles." Sherlock said, holding up a tiny microphone

"What? What's that?"

Sherlock now pulled a microphone from John's shirt collar and said, "You were humming one of their songs on the way here." Sherlock gave a smile at the look on John's face as the cabbie took them down the street and onto the main road. John began to laugh and Sherlock joined him.

"You bugged me, and I didn't even notice!" John exclaimed

"I mean I put your coat on, so it was quite easy." Sherlock said, smiling.

"So," John said, his giggles subsiding, "Where are we going?"

"Tottenham Court Road, to the theater company. Our victim is an actor."

"An Actor?" John repeated, "How could you possibly know that?"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at John and stared out the window.

"Wait." John said, "Are you telling me that those pictures I sent helped you figure out he was an actor?"

"The makeup." Sherlock said absentmindedly.

"The what?"

"Makeup on his face, he was wearing makeup, not just eyeliner, but powder, a foundation. When actors are on stage they need a lot of powder to make their faces stand out. There was also some sort of black powder on his inside pockets, you have it on your hands and it's on the bus ticket. So he must have been walking somewhere dusty and grimy. So, actor it is."

"And what about the bus ticket?" John asked.

"It was bus 133. I looked it up and it takes approximately 31 minutes to travel from Tottenham Court Road to Brixton Avenue with that bus ticket and there are 16 stops in between. The most recent showing of Into The Woods was at Tottenham Theater at 11:00, it ended at 1:05. It would take him a while to get out of costume and then he would take the bus back to the apartment where he was murdered."

"And he did all that in one day? Busy man." John muttered, "So, are we going to the theater?"

"Yes, were going have a look around, talk to some of the people there, see what they know. Maybe get some answers." Sherlock said. They both stared at the window as it passed towering buildings, gleaming in the sun. Five minutes later the taxi pulled up outside of the Tottenham Theater Company. The two paid and got out.

"After you," John said sarcastically as Sherlock pushed past him, toward the front doors.

….

Sherlock and John entered through the doors to a large atrium, with a large winding staircase leading to floors above. People were milling around, waiting in line for tickets or eating lunch at the indoor café. John looked up at the large skylight that was bathing the entire room in sunlight. John followed Sherlock up the winding staircase to a door leading off the hallway. The sign on the door read: Authorized Personnel Only "Sherlock," John hissed, "we shouldn't be up here" "We'll be fine, just blend in." Sherlock said, "I need to have a quick look around." And he popped open the door. They entered a medium sized room with mirrors on one wall and clothes racks on the other. The room was filled with other assortment of items such as make-up stands, wigs, and all sorts of costumes from angels' wings to every type of fake mustache imaginable. Each had an individual name stamped on the inside. Sherlock took one look at the room and processed everything he saw. "Good, now find the right makeup, John." Sherlock said. "What?" John asked. "Makeup, it's going to have our victims name on it, Noah Chaston." "And why are we looking for his makeup?" John asked, rummaging around the room. "Just look, we need to find out who put on his makeup." Sherlock replied quickly. "Alright," John said. "Who are you?" Said a voice from behind them. They wheeled around to find a shot porky man standing by the opposite door, a confused expression on his face. Sherlock noticed a large amount of makeup on his face, _actor _he thought. Then he saw a tiny N.B on his coat, _a name_. "Makeup artist," Sherlock invented quickly, "For Noah Chaston, I seemed to have misplaced his makeup kit." "What?" The man asked, "I just talked to his makeup artist, I'm calling security." "Alright, you do that." Sherlock said casually, "In the mean time, can you tell me who would want to kill Noah Chaston." The man stopped mid-dial, "Noah's dead?" "Yes, we just found his body," Sherlock said, giving the actor a penetrating stare. "What?" The man shrieked, "But he was our best actor!" Sherlock and John exchanged a glance, then Sherlock strode forward and said to the man, "We need to see this makeup artist right away." "Yeah, um, are you guys the police?" The man asked, looking dazed. "Yes, and time is of the essence, so-" Sherlock gestured toward the door, "If you will." "Of-of course." The man stuttered, pulling open the door and leading them down another hallway. John caught up to Sherlock and whispered to him, "Do you think it was the best idea telling him that Noah is dead?" "Oh he'll be fine, besides, we need information." "But it was a little blunt." John said. Sherlock sighed and said, "Yes, I suppose I need to work on that don't I?" He smiled and John replied, "Yeah, a bit." Sherlock could tell he was reliving the moment Sherlock burst through the door reveling to John that he was alive. They were both shaken from their thoughts when the man came to a halt outside a door marked, BACKSTAGE. "There you go, she's in there." He said, "I have to go talk to the director, we have to replace Noah for the show tonight. I think I have to play him if we can't get a replacement…" The actor slumped off back the way they came. Sherlock and John opened the door and found them selves facing a large room. Instead of walls there were black curtain, and the ceiling arched to the top where it met with a set of steel bars and ladders. Sherlock saw a woman applying makeup to another actor's face, and she glanced up when they entered. "Are you the techies, because you were supposed to be here an hour ago." She sported a thick Irish accent and had lines of irritation running down her face. "No, were the police." Sherlock said, stepping forward. The woman's face turned from irritation to confusion at once. "Police?" She repeated. "Yes, and we need to speak to you for a few moments." Sherlock said, "Alone." He pressed. The other woman left and Sherlock began, "Brenna Dow is it?" "How do you know my name?" The woman asked "I have my resources, now Noah Chaston is dead." "What?" The woman jumped to her feat, "Dead? How? When?" "This afternoon, he was murdered." Sherlock said. "Dear lord!" Mrs. Dow put here hands to her chest and took a few shuddering breathes. "Yes it's all very sad," Sherlock said hurriedly glancing up at the ceiling, "But I need to know, you put his makeup on for today's show didn't you?" "Yes-" She said, her hands shaking slightly, "But why would someone want to kill him, he was such a nice boy." Sherlock sighed, "John, you finish here, I'm going to take a look around." Sherlock turned to leave. "What?" John hissed. "She's being to sad, I need answers, just make sure you ask all the right questions." Sherlock said and he left the room. John shrugged and began to question the makeup artist. Meanwhile, Sherlock swept form the room and walked briskly toward the staircase. He pushed open the door and took the stairs two at a time, he climbed 2 flights of stairs and then got to a landing with a sign that said, Catwalk Entrance: Authorized Personnel only. Sherlock ignored the sign and pushed open the door. Before him was a long walkway with metal bars and ladders branching off on either side. Sherlock walked toward the nearest landing and glanced down; he could see the top of John's head as he talked to the woman. Sherlock moved down the row until he reached a catwalk leading toward the middle of the stage. He took the path and stopped when he saw what he was looking for. There were fingerprints on the bars on either side of the catwalk, as though someone had gripped them as they walked. Sherlock swiped the dust with a gloved hand and noticed it was the same dust from the dead man's pocket. Sherlock then pulled out his magnifying glass and saw only one set of prints there, though he'd expected to see multiple sets. Frowning slightly, Sherlock moved along the railing, crouching on his haunches to get a better look. He began to move to the center of the catwalk and noticed the fingerprints stopped suddenly. Straightening up, Sherlock reached the middle section right above the stage. He glanced around the light fixtures and monitors. Sherlock smiled when he saw a broken light fixture hanging loosely from its screws, and picked up a piece of glass from the ground just below it. "Same one." Sherlock said to himself, pocketing the glass shard and turning to leave. However, something stopped him. Sherlock heard a soft tapping noise to his left. He turned in time to see a shadow of a man leaning against the railing, tapping on the bars. "Sherlock Holmes." Said the man, his voice deep and foreboding. Sherlock lifted his head up in a defiant sort of way, "It is I." "The famous Sherlock Holmes, the one who faked his own death?" There was a moments silence then the man continued, "The one who faked his suicide." Sherlock merely nodded, "and who do I owe the pleasure?" Sherlock asked. "I don't kiss and tell," The shadow said slyly. "Nor do I." Sherlock replied, glaring into the darkness, he began to take a step forward but heard the cocking of a pistol. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." "Ah, I see, you're here to threaten me to stay away from this case." Sherlock said calmly. "We'll come after you, Sherlock Holmes." "Is this where you threatened Noah as well? Or did you just run into each other up here." Sherlock gestured around.

"I'm just sending a message." Just then the gun was fired silently and the shot landed a mere inches away from Sherlock's feet. Sherlock tensed as the man spoke again, "Do stay away from this case, or next time, Mr. Holmes, that bullet will be for your brain."

….

An hour later, Sherlock and John had left the theater and were driving back into town.

"So, that's what he said?" John asked. Sherlock had spent most of the cab ride explaining what had happened on the catwalk. Sherlock nodded and pulled out the shard of glass he found.

"I found this as well, were going to Barts Hospital to study it along with the shard of glass you found at the crime scene, see if we can get a match."

"Is that-" John paused, "Wait, were going to the Hospital?"

"Yes. Problem?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, um." Sherlock saw John clench his left hand in his lap, "It's just… I don't really like going there."

"Because you saw me jump there?" Sherlock asked bluntly, even though he already knew the answer.

"Yeah." John said, looking anywhere but Sherlock.

Sherlock swept John's face with his eyes, "You have to go back sometime." Sherlock said, "Face your…." He paused, "Fears. That's what your therapist told you right?"

"How did you…? Oh forget it." John said

John didn't say another word until they reached the hospital and got inside.

"Now," Sherlock said, settling himself on a stool and placing the shard of glass under a microscope, "I need you to send a text."

John sighed and said, "Where's your phone?"

"Not on mine, still trying to keep a low profile."

"Alright, to who?" John asked, pulling out his own phone.

"Lestrade. Tell him I found the glass shard and the murder."

"Alright, and- hang on…" John looked up quizzically from his phone, "you haven't already told him this?"

"Of course not. I needed to get everything ready." Sherlock said, spinning the dials on the microscope.

"Ready for what?" John asked.

"For when I had more information." Sherlock replied.

"Oh, so I see, your just trying to impress him." John said, nodding knowingly.

"Impressing who?" Molly Hooper said from the door. The two men looked up and Molly smiled, "It's nice to see you." She said sweetly to Sherlock.

Sherlock merely nodded and returned to his work, resting his eye on the microscope again.

"How are you?" John asked Molly, trying to cover up for Sherlock's more then impolite welcome.

"Good." She said, giving John a smile before her eyes imminently returned to Sherlock's where he was pouring a chemical substance on the shard.

"Um…" Molly began, "Sherlock?"

"Hum?" He asked, not looking up.

"How are you doing? You know, after living in all those different places." Molly laughed a little and Sherlock looked up.

"Fine thanks." He said simply.

"Wait, hang on-" John said, stepping forward, "Where did you live while you were…" John faltered, "Dead."

"Well he-" Molly began,

"Did you text Lestrade yet?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Yes, and where did he live?" John directed his question at Molly now.

"Oh." She said taken aback, "The usual places…" She ended lamely.

"Like what?" John said, his eyebrows becoming closer together.

"Is that important right now?" Sherlock said, smiling. His smile faltered at the look on John's face.

"I told you, the usually places, hotels, apartments, my flat, -"

"Your flat! You couldn't possibly mean that flat that _I _live in as well?" John spat.

"Well of course, what other flat would I live at?" Sherlock replied calmly.

"And was this before or after I moved out?"

Molly was looking between the two friends with wide eyes.

"Both," Sherlock kept speaking when John opened his mouth to reply "and I spent time other places."

"Like?"

"Well. I-" Sherlock faltered, "Now John, you must understand that a lot of people where after me, even though I was dead," Sherlock raised his voice over John's "and I had certain obligations to complete, so I had to live where I could."

"Where did you live Sherlock?" John pressed, his voice venomous.

"Well…" Sherlock cleared his throat, "The um… Homeless network was quite helpful."

John stood completely still his mouth opening and closing without making any sounds.

"So…" John said after a moment, "you… were homeless."

"Yes and no. I was choosing to be homeless, there's a deferent's." Sherlock corrected.

"You were homeless." John said, all the anger gone from his face. He was now smiling slightly.

"Chosen John," Sherlock said pointedly.

John chuckled and looked down when his phone made a noise. It was a text from Lestrade. Sherlock gave a crocked smile and turned back to his work. Molly took a deep breath and said, "well, um, I'm going to examine the body now."

"Ah good, keep us informed." Sherlock said. Molly chanced one last glance back at Sherlock and then left the room.

….

Two hours later, Sherlock and John met Lestrade and Molly down the hall in the Corner's lab.

"The autopsy came back negative on all fronts." Molly said, shaking her head, "I have no idea how this man died. He seemed in perfect health."

"Except for the fact that he's dead." John said.

"Well, yeah," Molly replied.

"Poison?" Sherlock asked.

"Not that I know of, the tox screens came up negative of all the usual poisons. Plus there are no puncture marks or even burses on the body that would have killed him." Molly said.

"None?" Lestrade asked, appalled.

"No."

"Check his throat." Sherlock ordered.

"His throat? You think he chocked on something because I already checked." Molly replied.

"Just check it," Sherlock pressed.

Molly opened the man's mouth with a gloved hand. She grabbed a small flashlight and a tiny beam appeared down the throat.

"There's something in there, this didn't show up on the cat-scan." She reached her hand inside. John crinkled his nose as Molly pulled out a small capsule.

"Ah yes, just as I suspected." Sherlock clapped his hands together.

"What is it?" Lestrade asked.

"Behind as always, aren't you?" Sherlock said mockingly.

"Would you like to enlighten us Sherlock?" John asked.

"This is good!" Sherlock said with relish, "It was just a decoy! Brilliant! The killer distracted us with the glass shard, he knew I would put it together that he was an actor and that I would go there. He also knew that Molly would never check the throat, no offence but you don't check the obvious places, therefore, it would be completely untraceable had we caught in mere hours later." Sherlock said, "Oh this is clever."

"Sherlock," John said, "can you spare the theatrics and get on with it?"

"Have you talked to his family? Are there any connections?" Sherlock directed his question at Lestrade, ignoring John.

"Family? I didn't find any family."

"Of course you didn't." Sherlock said, sighing. "He has a sister in Brighton."

"Really? How-"

"Did I possibly figure it out?" Sherlock finished, "his wallet had a train ticket 2 hours from here, and look there, Brighton! He also had lipstick in his wallet, not a girlfriends, it's to old and used, but a sisters. She must have left it behind."

"Wallet?" Lestrade asked, "We didn't find a wallet."

Sherlock said impatiently, "No, I found it at the theater."

"And you didn't happen to mention this?" Lestrades voice was rising angrily.

"Must have slipped my mind," Sherlock said idly.

"Nothing slips you mind!" Lestrade fired back.

"Very true, that's what makes me great. Now if you will excuse us, we have a murder to solve, come along John!" Sherlock said all of this at top speed.

"Now wait a moment!" Lestrade yelled after them, Sherlock turned impatiently. "What about the glass?"

"It was just a decoy! Don't you see, where wasting time talking when there is a murder out there?" Sherlock said, and with that they swept from the room.

….

Sherlock and John took a cab back to Baker Street. Once they entered their flat Sherlock took out his phone and began on scrolling through it.

John sank into a chair and asked Sherlock, "What are you looking for?"

"The Industry…" Sherlock yelled, "I knew I had seen it before, of course!"

"The what?" John asked, clasping a shaking hand in his lap.

"A marking I found on the man's hand." Sherlock replied, pacing.

"The man who threatened you?"

"Yes."

"And that's what the marking is, this Industry thing?"

"It appears so, yes. Mycroft dealt with them a few years back"

John nodded and glanced at this watch, "Good lord!" John exclaimed jumping to his feet.

"What?" Sherlock glanced up at John.

"I have to go, I'm late. I have um…" John paused, "Therapy." John glanced at Sherlock's face.

"Ah." Sherlock said, "Well, see you in a bit."

"Yeah" John said. There was a pause where John could feel the air crackling.

John left the flat and fagged down a cab. Once he got to a tall gray building, he paid the cab and went inside. He smiled at the secretary and climbed the stairs. He knocked gently and heard a woman's voice say, "Come in." John opened the door to revel a large room with two windows allowing a weak sunlight to stream inside.

"Hello John, come in." His therapist said, gesturing to the chair opposite her. John noticed she had his file open and she was taking notes.

"How are you?" She asked as he sat down.

"Good." John said simply. There was a small pause and then she said, "What have you been doing this week?"

"Were working on a new case."

"Oh really? And how's that going?"

"Good." John said again, "It's strange."

"What's strange," She asked,

"Working cases with him again."

"In what way?"

"Well. I didn't think I would be so happy solving crimes again," John smiled.

"And how is your relationship with Sherlock?"

"It's ok."

"Just ok?"

"Well," John paused thoughtfully, "He's different, more distant."

"Really? Do you think he is trying to distance himself from you."

"No, nothing like that, it's just that…" He paused again, "never mind."

"What were you going to say?" The therapist asked.

"I feel so…. Afraid… I just, don't want to… to loose him again."

"That's reasonable. You have more of a protection instinct now, because you know what life is without him."

"Yeah, and it's like he's afraid. Afraid that if we get to attached and he really does…" John swallowed, "Die. Then I will be much worse then before."

"You think he's distancing himself for your sake?"

"Well, I'm not sure… it's always so hard to tell with him."

"Hum." She said thoughtfully, "Well, maybe you would consider moving to a different place, so you two could have some time alone."

"What?" John asked, appalled. "Move out? Are you joking?"

"No," She said, "I think it would be good for the both of you to find new places just until you can get back on your feet."

"I'm doing the best I can!" John said, defensively.

"I know you are, and you are doing great, but what about the dreams?"

"What about them?"

"Their getting worse aren't they?" She asked.

"Well, yes, but imagine the dreams I had if I moved out! I would have to come over at the middle of the night just to make sure he wasn't dead."

"John-"

"No! You don't understand. I was a really depressing person and them I met Sherlock, he helped me through so much, and he is helping me through this! You know, I don't need you to give me advice, I am doing the best that I can!"

"John," She said again, and pointed to the door. Sherlock stood framed in the door, ashen faced.

"Sherlock?" John asked, stunned.

"John," He said urgently, "It's Molly, she's missing."

….

Rain had begun to pour heavily as John and Sherlock reached the street where Sherlock had a cab waiting. They speed off down the street in it.

"What's happened?" John asked.

"I went to Bart's to ask Molly for her autopsy report and found the place demolished. And she was gone. I have reason to believe she was kidnapped."

"Jesus…" John muttered, "What are we going to do?"

"Lestrade and Sally are at Bart's checking out the crime scene, I already have all I need from there, and I'm going straight to the source."

"The source?"

"You know this Industry that I was looking up? Well turns out it's a group of British Mobsters."

"What?"

"Mobsters yes. They must have taken her for information, because she was trying to call me before she was taken. She must know something that they don't want us to know."

"Like what, something on the body that could revel them?"

"Well yes, saying as the body was gone as well."

"They took the body?" Asked John confused.

"Yes, It must have concealed something…" Sherlock was thoughtful.

"Do you think the were smuggling something in the body?"

"Of course not, I-" It was Sherlock's turn to look surprised.

"Oh stupid!" He cried, making the taxi driver jump, "I've been so daft! John, you a genus!"

"I- come again?"

"The body John! It's been about the body this whole time! Right in front of me and I missed it, me! Stop!" He yelled suddenly to the cab driver. The cab screeched to a halt and Sherlock sprang out of the car into the rain yelling,

"Pay for us will you John?" and ran off down the street.

"Wait, Sherlock!" John sighed and said to the driver, "How much?"

Two minutes later John caught up with Sherlock his feet splashing in the rain.

"Where in the ruddy hell are we going?"

"I told you, the source!" Sherlock replied, sprinting down the street to a dark alley.

"What? Are you insane?"

"Quite possibly." Sherlock said, speeding up. The two men reached the end of the alley and Sherlock stopped in his tracks. John slipped to a stop next to him.

"Where are we?" John asked.

"We are entering the very heart of London's most dangerous mob."

….

"I think I have something!" Lestrade shouted to Donovan. Sergeant Donovan looked up from her investigation of the instruments on the floor. Lestrade held up a sheet of paper on the morgue table.

"Molly started doing the paperwork for this body, and this last part has been ripped off. Looks like this kidnapper didn't want us to see what was on that body.

"I'll bet you anything that's why Molly was taken. She knew to much." Sally Donovan replied sadly.

"And look at this," She added, holding up a phone with a gloved hand, "Molly was going to call Sherlock."

"What?" Lestrade asked, picking up the phone. He saw the first eight digits of Sherlock's number on the screen.

"Good lord Molly," Lestrade muttered, "What did you see?"

….

John followed Sherlock tentatively forward to a small dive bar.

"This used to be a normal bar until the mob took it over. It's notoriously known, and not many people come by. There in for a surprise." Sherlock muttered, as they got closer.

"Yeah they are," John, said irritated, "Because no one would be so stupid to just walk in."

"Or so brilliant!" Sherlock said. He took two more strides to the door and flung it open.

The bar beyond the door was dark and crowded to the point where John only saw shadows of people lurking in the corners. They saw a few glance in as Sherlock and John entered. They then however returned back to their conversations. There were a few women dancing on the tables and John looked around when a large crowd of men laughed in a far booth. One was adding bullets to his gun, others were chatting over drinks in the corner.

"Um… Sherlock… why aren't they shooting us?"

"Oh, did I mention they don't care about civilians unless they cause a disturbance?"

"What?" John said loudly, so others looked up.

"Please John, keep your voice down. Or they _could_ shoot us."

Sherlock strode purposely toward a small table in the back.

"Hello," Sherlock began to a man surrounded by woman, "I need to speak with Maco." John saw Sherlock slip a 50-pound note onto the table.

"Maco doesn't speak to anyone." The man said, laughing.

"But he does speak to me." Sherlock growled.

"Holmes?" The man asked, surprised.

"Who else would it be?" Sherlock asked his voice laced with malice.

"Oh um… I'm sorry Mr. Holmes." The man's voice was suddenly filled with fear, "You changed your hair, and I didn't recognize you. Who is this with you?"

"This is Sherlock. Please forgive him, his clothing is atrocious." Sherlock said, throwing John a side-glance.

"Well, any friend of Mycroft is a friend of mine, please, come upstairs right away."

The man left the table and led the two upstairs to a smaller room off the hall. The room was poorly lit and there was a small table seated in the corner with a single candle on it. Sherlock strode forward and sat across the table with a man. All Sherlock could see were flickering shadows of the man he sat across from.

"Mycroft, to what do we owe the pleasure? Would you like a drink?"

"No, Macavoy, I'm here strictly on business," Sherlock said, glancing at the tattoo on the man's hand.

"After all these years? What brings you back?"

"I need to know about Noah Chaston." Sherlock said calmly.

Maco straightened up, "Why?" He said tersely.

"He was a…" Sherlock paused, "Client of mine."

"Chaston? Your client? And what about this funny little man you brought with you, what is he doing here?" Maco asked.

John opened his mouth to reply but Sherlock cut though, "Sherlock is merely here for the reward."

Maco laughed dryly at this, "If you think we can piece you in on this along with your friend then you are sourly mistaken."

"Am I?" Sherlock asked, pulling out John's gun from his jacket pocket.

"Your threats are empty on me." Maco said calmly.

"Really?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrow raised.

"Really." Maco said, pulling out a much larger gun from the table and standing up.

"Um…" John said tensely.

Sherlock and Maco stood frozen for a few tense seconds then they heard a shout from the next room. "Get off of me!"

"Who's that?" Sherlock asked Maco coolly.

"None of your importance, she is just a…" He smiled slightly, "client."

"Can I see her? I always like to see new clients, especially ones that involve Chaston."

"How did you know that?" Maco asked sharply.

"I have many was of getting information out of people, as you should remember." Sherlock said quietly.

Maco stiffened again and sighed, "She's not that interesting, she won't shut up."

"But I can still extract information from her?" Sherlock said, feigning excitement.

"Yes, right this way."

Maco, Sherlock, and John left the room and went across the hall to another door. Maco flung it open and told the others to leave. John grimaced at the sight he saw. Molly was tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Her hair was matted and she had burses on her wrists and face, John also noticed her lip was bleeding.

"Oh Sherlock, thank god!" Molly screeched. Maco gave John a confused expression, "Do you know this woman?"

John cleared his throat and said, "Yes, she's my new client."

"What?" Maco was looking from Molly to John to Sherlock.

"Oh for goodness sake." Sherlock muttered, turning to Maco and punching him out cold.

"That's better." Sherlock turned to Molly smiling.

"Um… Sherlock," John said from the door.

"What John I-" Sherlock turned as well to find a man holding a gun to John's head.

….

"Step away from the girl, or I shoot your boyfriends brains out." Said the man holding the gun.

"I'm not his boyfriend!" John said defiantly, "How many times do I have to tell you people?" He was trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"John shut up." Sherlock said, backing slowly away from Molly.

"Now." The man ordered, "Give me that gun."

Sherlock walked forward and began to hand over the gun. In one sudden motion, Sherlock punched the man in the stomach. There was a soft crunching sound as Sherlock gasped in pain, clutching his hand. The man holding the gun laughed harshly,

"Bulletproof vest, now give me the gun." Sherlock tried to throw a punch at the man's face with his uninjured hand but he let go of John and slapped Sherlock to the ground. Sherlock dropped his gun and it clattered away. John tried to kick the man's feet out from under him but weighed much more then John and he fell over as well. The large man picked John up from the ground with his shirt collar and punched him clean across John's face. John fell to the ground again.

Molly gasped as she watched her two friends be beaten up by the large mobster. She struggled against her bonds trying to break free.

"Sherlock!" John yelled through a nosebleed on the floor, "Get the gun!"

Sherlock stumbled forward but to late. The man lifted the gun in his hands and pointed it at Sherlock.

"I wouldn't try that if I were you."

….

Lestrade and Donovan left the crime scene ten minutes later and headed down the road in the rain.

"Where's Sherlock? I've been trying to call him for the past five minutes." Lestrade asked, as his phone went to voicemail again.

"Did he say where he was going?" Donovan asked.

"No, he never tells me where he's going. For all we know, he could be infiltrating the British government right now." Lestrade said irritated.

….

"Oh dull." Sherlock muttered as the large mobster lead the two men by their shirt collars over to chairs next to Molly.

"Are you alright?" Molly asked, still trying to break free from her bonds.

John and Sherlock merely nodded, panting through the pain.

"John," Sherlock began.

"Yeah."

"On 3."

John nodded, he understood. He counted to in his head, _one… two…_

"Three!" Sherlock yelled. Simultaneously, John grabbed the mans head while Sherlock got a clean shot with his left hand. Blood spurted from the mans nose. He dropped his gun and John stooped down quickly to snatch it up again. He now held it to the man's head.

"That's better." John said, whipping the blood from his face and leading the man over to the chair. "Sherlock, you alright?"

"Fine." Sherlock grimaced, and then knocked the man out cold with a left-handed blow to the head.

The two detectives stood panting for a minute then they heard footsteps on the stairs.

"We got to get out of here." John said urgently.

Sherlock nodded and began trying to untie Molly one handed.

"Here," John said, pushing Sherlock out of the way, "I got it, you check the door." Sherlock nodded and John began to release Molly from her bonds. After little frantic minutes the ropes where free.

"Can you walk?" John asked Molly. She nodded and stood shakily.

There was a pound at the door and muffled yells.

"Is there another way out of here?" John asked.

"The window!" Molly yelled, pointing. John led the way and the other two followed. Just as they had propped the window open, the door burst off its hinges. Four men burst in, guns at the ready.

"What the-?" The first man said, looking on at the scene in front of him.

Sherlock, John, and Molly crawled through the window when they heard men shouting behind them. They got out of the window and were running down the fire escape when they heard gunshots from behind.

"Quickly," John urged, speeding up.

The four men followed and began to climb down the fire escape as well. More gunfire was heard from above. The three ducked and ran faster. They made it down the fire escape and ran down the alley. More bullets followed them and they sprinted full out until they reached the end of the alley.

"Which way?" Molly asked franticly.

Sherlock now led the way, turning left down the next street. Passers by turned in shock when they saw the three people covered in blood, sprinting down the street.

"Almost there." Sherlock yelled to the other two. They heard their pursuers close behind them. Sherlock made another sharp turn down another alley. They hid on either side of the alley as they heard the men pass. The three stood there panting for a few moments listening to the dying footsteps. John trying to stiffen the blood on his face, and Sherlock's right hand hung limply beside him as he pulled out his phone.

"You alright?" John asked the other two.

"Yeah." Molly said breathlessly.

"Let me take a look at your hand, Sherlock." John said, concern in his eyes.

"I'm fine, I need to call Lestrade." Sherlock dialed Lestrade number and said when he answered, "Yes Lestrade, bring an ambulance, we got Molly."

...

Sherlock sat in the ambulance ten minutes later, wincing slightly as his hand was bandaged up. John was arguing with the doctor in another ambulance near by.

"I'm fine! But I think Sherlock is really badly hurt. I _need_ to see him!"

"Sir, please lie still." The doctor said, pushing him back into the gurney, "You have a mind concussion, which means-"

"I know what it means, I'm a bloody doctor!" John shouted, sitting up again.

"Please." The doctor urged.

"Is John causing problems doctor?" Sherlock came around the corner, smiling at John.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, "you wouldn't believe this man, he wouldn't let me check up on you!"

"I'm fine John, you just need to relax." Sherlock said, John thought he saw a flash of concern in Sherlock's eyes before it vanished. John sighed and slumped back on his pillows.

"How's Molly?" John asked as the doctor began to tie a bandage around John's head.

"She's doing fine. She's in a little bit of shock, but she should be fine." Sherlock said reassuringly. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine. That's what I keep telling people, but it's like I've never had a concussion before. I was in bloody Afghanistan, that was a concussion within it's self." John said, rolling his eyes.

"We'll we be able to take him home soon?" Sherlock asked the doctor.

"Yes, I'm almost done here. Just remember, that he'll need a lot of rest and-"

"I might be dizzy for a couple of days, yeah." John finished.

"Yes." The doctor said.

"And what about your hand, Sherlock?" John asked.

"It's just a fracture, I should be fine in a few weeks." Sherlock said, shrugging it off.

"Jesus Sherlock," John said, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Sherlock said, "Now, I'm going to go give Lestrade my report, you'll be ok here?"

"Yeah." John said.

Sherlock turned and sighed heavily. He walked over to Lestrade who looked up when he approached.

"How is he?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"Concussion, mild. How's Molly?"

"She's in a right state. She keeps saying she didn't mean to and all. Poor bloke." Lestrade muttered.

"She'll be alright in a few days." Sherlock commented.

"And you? Are you alright?" Lestrade asked, eyeing Sherlock's bandaged hand.

"Fine, why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason, your Sherlock." Lestrade said, holding up his hands, "now, can you tell me what in the ruddy hell happened here today?" Lestrade gestured around.

As Sherlock began to explain what happened at the bar, and back at the ambulance, the doctor told John he was free to go.

"Thanks." John said, and he jumped down. He shrugged the blanket off himself and walked over to Molly.

"Hey Molly." John said gently, "Want me to take a look at that?" John pointed to the cut on her forehead.

"No it's alright. The doctor already stitched it up." Molly tried to smile but it came out more of a grimace.

"How are you holding up?" John asked, sitting next to her.

"Alright." She replied shrugging.

"You want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing much to say…" She said, "I had just found out about the body and I was calling Sherlock when a man came from behind me and covered my mouth with chloroform."

"Then he took me to that bar place and asked me all these questions about what I had seen-"

"And what did you see?" John asked.

"Well, when I was doing my autopsy, I found a large amount of led in his bloodstream, but it was old, as though he had had it in there for a while."

"What?" John asked.

"I know, I don't understand it, maybe Sherlock can make something out of it, because I'm not sure."

"But the body was stolen wasn't it?"

"Yes, but I saved some of the blood and froze it, so I could test it later."

"Oh." John smiled, "good thinking."

Just then, Sherlock and Lestrade walked over to the ambulance. Behind them, the sun was gently setting leaving the night sky to consume the day.

"Molly." Sherlock greeted her, "Lestrade was just telling me about the led in the Noah Chaston's blood, that's quite interesting."

"Yeah." She said quietly.

"Well, I shall check back in the morning. Come on John, we should get you home."

John raised an eyebrow, "you know that I'm fine right?" They started to walk up the main road.

"Of course you are…" Sherlock said.

….

The next day, John woke up to the smell of something burning. He jumped out of bed and sprinted into the kitchen. John found Sherlock flipping eggs over in a burning pan.

"Sherlock!" John yelled.

Sherlock turned, "I said hand me the fire extinguisher!" John grabbed it from the wall and handed it to Sherlock. He sprayed down the pan and the fire went out instantly.

"What in the bloody hell were you doing?" John yelled.

"I was trying to cook." Sherlock replied, leaving the pan on the stove and slumping onto a couch, sweeping his robe over himself and propping up his bare feet.

"You were cooking?" John asked though suppressed giggles.

"Yes, but it was not successful. I'm not a cook, and it's harder then it looks."

"You were cooking? Sherlock Holmes was cooking?" John said again.

"Yes." Sherlock said defiantly, "Problem?"

"Well, your Sherlock…" John said, "and you were cooking!"

"Yes, we've been over this, so I admit it, I'm a bad cook." Sherlock crossed his arms.

"I'd say so, you have the stove on high. If you wanted to boil the eggs then that would have been fine. Why were you trying to cook anyway?" John asked, turning away from the stove.

"I knew you always sleep late so I thought I would make us breakfast." Sherlock said quickly.

"Really?" John was taken aback. "What time is it?"

"12:30 and yes, John, and I am sorry for burning it. How's your head?" Sherlock added.

"It's alright." John said, "It's sort of sore, but it's fine. How about you hand?"

John walked over to the couch, grabbed Sherlock's legs and moved them off the couch so he would have a place to sit and pulled out the paper from the desk. "It's fine." Sherlock said simply.

"Good, and how about next time, lets order in." John smiled at Sherlock.

There were a few moments pause while John browsed through the paper the he turned to Sherlock,

"How did you do it?" John asked.

"Do what?"

"Get people to think you were Mycroft?"

"Well," Sherlock said, "Mycroft had to do an undercover mission involving the Mobsters a few years back and he never broke ties with some of them."

"Are you serious?" John said, "Mycroft was a mobster! That's brilliant. How long did he do this?"

"10 months. It was a long case." Sherlock said.

John sat in a stunned silence for a few moments and then changed the subject,

"How did you sleep?"

"I didn't." Sherlock replied, absentmindedly stroking his bandaged hand.

"Why not?" John put the paper down.

"Couldn't, I was thinking."

"But you have all day to think, don't tell me your mind is still going while you sleep?"

"I find it easier if I allow myself to think instead of sleep. Sleeping is dull and useless."

"Yeah, unless your trying to have energy to do things during the day." John said sarcastically.

"We need to go to the Hospital." Sherlock said suddenly, jumping to his feet.

"Get dressed John!" Sherlock said, running into his room and John heard him say, "We don't want to be late!"

John shook his head and sighed. "First he burns the breakfast and then doesn't let me eat any."

….

Twenty minutes later Sherlock and John arrived at the Bart's Hospital where they met Lestrade and Donovan.

"Hello freak." Donovan greeted Sherlock as he walked in.

"Sally." Sherlock replied, "You should really start bringing a change of clothes in your purse Donovan, wearing Anderson's pants isn't very professional."

Sally glared at Sherlock as he passed her leading the way into the morgue. John shrugged at Sally and followed Sherlock.

Lestrade followed John into the morgue where most to the crime scene tape still hung. Sherlock grabbed it and ripped it from the wall. Then he grabbed the blood sample out of the fridge and placed it under a microscope.

"Please stop breathing so loudly," Sherlock said to the group, "Or better yet, breathe outside."

"Oh come on?" Lestrade raised an eyebrow.

"Now." Sherlock pressed.

Lestrade and Donovan sighed and headed to the door. John made to follow but Sherlock said, "Not you John, you have a normal breathing pattern. You can stay" John smiled slightly and sat down in a chair opposite Sherlock. John watched as Sherlock inspected the blood sample, occasionally adding a liquid to it or extracting some. After a few silent minutes Sherlock straightened up and smiled at John.

"We have to go see Mycroft, I believe we found our solution."

"Really? Why Mycroft?"

"Because he has the most information about our Mobsters. I may have stole some of his case files but I did not work the case."

"So this definitely has something to do with the Industry?"

"Of course it does, where have you been?" Sherlock said.

John sighed and said, "Well, where is Mycroft?"

Just then Sherlock's phone buzzed in his pocket. Sherlock picked it up.

"Ah good morning Mycroft." Sherlock answered cheerily.

John heard Mycroft yelling at the other end, "Must have figured out you were a mobster in his place." John said. Sherlock nodded glumly at John and rolled his eyes at the phone. The yelling when on for some time until Sherlock cut in-

"Yes I know, I've been so annoying," Sherlock said sarcastically, "Now would you stop you're blabbering and tell me where I can find you."

Sherlock and John got into a cab and went back to Baker Street and found Mycroft waiting for them outside.

"Brother." Sherlock grimaced and gestured toward the front door. They headed up the stairs and sat down. Mrs. Hudson tottered inside a few moments later carrying a tea tray.

"I thought I heard your voice Mycroft, how are you?" She asked sweetly.

"Fine." He said, smiling at her. John took the tray from her and thanked her. Mrs. Hudson smiled and said, "What have you three been cooking up?"

"Business Mrs. Hudson, now please leave us." Sherlock said coolly. John gave her a symphetic look and she left.

"Now." Mycroft began, "How could you just decide to infiltrate the most dangerous Mob in London?"

"I told you." Sherlock replied annoyed, "Molly had been taken there and we were rescuing her."

"You want be to believe you did this for one person, she's not John, Sherlock. Have you gotten soft?" Mycroft said.

"No, Mycroft," Sherlock spat, "She had information that I wanted."

"Really?" John asked, "that can't be the only reason Sherlock, come on?"

"It still surprises you?" Sherlock turned to John, "I need information, I knew they wouldn't kill her, so I wasn't worried."

John sighed, "You know, your right, I shouldn't be surprised you don't care about other people's well being."

"I only care about mine, and yours." Sherlock said quietly.

"Can we stop this lovers quarrel and get back to business." Mycroft said, his eyes thin.

"Of course." Sherlock said, "Led and traces of Iron in the blood, experiment, correct?"

"Yes. They had been holding experiments on all their clients, and they knew of it."

"Wait, hold on, experiments?" John asked.

"Yes, the Mobsters have been putting led in volunteers for the past few months. Noah Chaston was their first." Sherlock said

"And why would they want to put led in their blood system?"

"Because they want to see what changes it makes on humans, it's terrible business." Mycroft answered.

"And so, what, when Noah wanted them to stop experiments they killed him?" John asked.

"One would think so, but it wasn't the mob that killed him." Sherlock said. Mycroft and John looked at Sherlock taken aback.

"What? Then who did?"

"Not the faintest. I would guess it was someone at the theater."

"Why would someone want to kill him there?" Mycroft asked.

"I'm not sure. But I think we should go back their John, and see who we can dig up, brother you deal with the mob, shut down this operation."

Mycroft gave him a stern look, "Sherlock, I can't just waltz in and stop an operation of this magnitude, surly you know that."

"Of course you can, you run the British Government." John said.

"Not so much these days. Since Sherlock faked his death it's brought me a world of trouble, but what's so different about Sherlock causing trouble." Mycroft sighed, "I'll see what I can do. And brother-" He added, "Do be careful, I don't want you to be in any actual danger." And Mycroft left the flat.

"Was he just concerned for you?" John asked.

"It would seem so yes."

"So the theater… who are we going to talk to?"

"Well, the big show is tonight and-" Sherlock gasped, "Oh course! It's been in front of me since the start! It was a perfect cover up! NB!"

"What's NB?" John asked, looking slightly startled.

"I'll tell you on the way, come on John, we must hurry! What time is it?"

"2:45." John said.

"The play starts in twenty minutes, lets go!"

"What?" John asked as Sherlock dashed out of the flat again.

"Good lord." John shouted, "Do we ever get a break!"

….

"Nicholas Brendon!" Sherlock said as they entered the Theater once more and took the stairs two at a time. "He was the first person we met! How could I have missed it?" Sherlock flung open the costume door once more and went down the hallway to the backstage door. Sherlock glanced at his watch, panting.

"We have five minutes until the show starts." Sherlock whispered, "We need to stop it from starting."

"How on earth are we going to do that?" John asked.

"Follow my lead." And Sherlock burst through the backstage door.

The room of people beyond froze as they entered. There was an awkward pause.

"Were here!" Sherlock shouted, "Sorry for the tardiness, but I got an urgent call, I'm your fill in director, and John here is the replacement for Noah. Come now John, get into costume." John stared at Sherlock open mouthed along with the cast.

They were jolted back to their senses by a booming voice over the intercom.

"2 minutes until show times folks, take your seats."

There was an instant uproar from the cast.

"But he never rehearsed with us!"

"Does he know all of his lines?"

"Why can't Nicholas play the part?"

"You said you're a director-?"

"Silence!" Sherlock shouted over the noise, "It's Showtime! John, costume!"

John glanced at Sherlock with half horror half confusion, he slipped into some tights and a green vest and John whispered to Sherlock, "Are you crazy? I don't even know who I'm playing!"

"Your playing Jack in the bean stalk, have you seen Into The Woods?"

"NO!" John hissed.

"Just go out there," Sherlock muttered, "You'll be fine, just improvise."

"Are you _kidding_ me?" John grabbed Sherlock by the collar.

"Showtime!" The stagehand hissed at the group. The actors pushed past the curtains and got into possessions in the dark. John was rooted to the spot with fear.

"I have stage fright Sherlock!"

"Just go. I've already called Lestrade to tell him to get over here, if all else fails, tell the audience you have to climb the bean stalk just don't-" Sherlock was interrupted by one of the stage hands hissing, "Come on! Places!"

"Don't what?" John hissed.

"See you in a few moments." Sherlock said, and walked a few paces away. John allowed himself to be pulled into position by a stagehand. There was a still moment of pause then the lights struck the stage with such force that it temporarily blinded John.

The next 30 minutes seemed to pass in a blur as John stood in the corner pretending to react to the characters and things. Then John noticed a silence and the cast was looking directly at him with intensity.

"I need to climb this bean stalk." John said out of the blue. The cast glanced nervously at each other and John saw Nicholas Brendon walking toward him. John flinched and said, "I wonder where it leads?" There was an awkward pause and a large beanstalk appeared behind him. Nicholas pretended to pat John's back while attaching a hook to John's costume. John understood eminently what was going to happen right before it did.

John was lifted into the air as he pretends to climb the beanstalk. He felt the hook rattling its place. It wasn't in place correctly and John felt as though he would fall at any minute. He looked down nervously at the smirking face of Nicholas and the rest of the cast, to Sherlock's white face from below. John continued to rise in the air while loud music was playing in the background; he felt the hook come loose completely and grabbed the beanstalk. The hook fell away and John clung on to the plastic beanstalk for dear life. There were gasps from below when people started to realize something was wrong. Sherlock ran out on to the stage and stared up at John.

"Hold on John!"

Lestrade ran in after Sherlock onto the stage. John felt his hands slipping on the stalk and he held on tighter. From below, John saw Lestrade pulling Nicholas to the ground and Sherlock was muttering to a stagehand. They began to attach a hook to Sherlock's back and they began to lift Sherlock into the air. John's hand slipped and he felt his heart skip a beat.

"Sherlock!" John yelled, his voice rising, his other hand slipping.

"Hold on John!" Sherlock rose higher as the audience gasped again, he finally reached John and grabbed him around the waist. The two fell down as they were lowered and they hit the ground rather hard. John groaned and lay on the stage floor. There was a long pause and then the audience burst into applause. John looked around at the huge crowd and smiled slightly. Sherlock helped John to his feet and they bowed to the audience.

John walked back stage, trying to steady his heart rate, his legs feeling like jello. Sherlock followed John back stage where they found Lestrade handcuffing Nicholas.

"Good try." Sherlock said to Nicholas, "It was a brilliant plan, and it would have worked if you hadn't told me you were replacing Noah. Classic move, killing a man to get his role. So when John came along, you had to kill him as well."

Nicholas just stared.

"It was clever sending the Mob to the catwalk, and the poison! Pumping led into the bloodstream and the capsule dissolves after 5 hours. You knew Noah was a client for the mob and that they were doing test on their clients blood." Sherlock smiled and said, "Thank you for this murder Nicholas, you really speak to actors who want to get roles everywhere." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"I can't only hold him to attempted murder, where's the evidence of Noah's murder?" Lestrade asked.

"All in his apartment, chemicals and things that should be enough to charge him." Sherlock said nonchalantly

Lestrade nodded and said, "Thank you Sherlock," Lestrade sighed, "Are you alright?" He added to John. John just nodded unable to speak. Lestrade nodded to the two police officers and lead Nicholas out of the room.

John sighed heavily, "That was amazing! How did you know that?"

"I notice John, I've told you this." Sherlock replied.

"Wait, your not going to show off to me? What's gotten into you?" John asked jokingly.

"I don't like to show off when I know I put your life at risk." Sherlock said quietly.

"It's ok Sherlock, I'm fine." John said, feeling a knot twist in his stomach.

"I am sorry though." Sherlock said, his eyes to the floor.

"It's ok." John said gently. "I'm alive and well, and starving." John smiled.

"Lets go out, I don't feel like burning any more food." Sherlock smiled back.

John smiled and led the way out of the theater and out into the street once more.

The End.


End file.
